(45) The long slow migration of dead souls
(45) The long slow migration of dead souls
No one had to know about this at all. In the end, I cared only for those to whom it might mean something, and to those of you it does, this information is for you. I’ll sum up what is most frequently asked.
This migration has an involuntary purpose. It occurs rather regularly at unpredictable intervals, following victims of fatalities. At first, each time, a very low hum resounds and dies out. There is only total obscurity. The hum resounds and dies out a few more times before a very, very gradual spectral greyness merges with the pulsing shadows.
Then, only then, do the first shy bleak apparitions motion out of nowhere. They are far too bleak for our visual capacities. They nevertheless are the first comers. They slowly lift, and while they do, more somewhere is distantly remembered, and the earliest risers start to drift in sight. So gently…o softly….completely silent to our auditory capacities.
They head as for nowhere towards undefined inexistence cast by a calling memory. When the gloom enlarges and becomes greater still, the population of spectres slowly sweeps over an immaterial dunned void desert. They all follow the call and are constantly joined by darker and longer shadowy spectres that gently form on the sides of a natural corridor, formed of the bleakest and earliest rising souls.
When their numbers have become important, they all converge at this one apparent area, their only triumph, and in an incredibly silent yet dignified and excited flitter flattering shrieks of countless remembrance wings, all these birds of night, bats of dust, flitter flatter their remembrance wings very shrilly in a high pitched recognition moment of intense merging of all spectral souls, some pterodactyl-like, others like huge empty eyed mountains.
All together, against the low gloom of inexistence, for a short while, they form an endless flitter flattering shape of doom. Terrifying awls of prolonged surrealist shrieks sinusoidally impossible for the capacities of our ears modulate the unseen force of the migration towards its goal, getting nearer and nearer now.
When the time for it comes, the most incredible sirenous sounds resound and die out. Those are the final calls, for the last slow souls to drift closer. They must all leave and none can miss their ride. At this point, the greyness is luminous. When all the dead souls for this migration have arrived, giant, absolutely giant sonic waves come crashing at repeated intervals. They have entered oblivion. They will never be again.
